


and if you fall

by voidify



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Contemplation of Suicide, Footnotes, Gen, Javert Lives, M/M, Nonstandard Post-Seine, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Parallels, both ship tags are in a pre-slash-with-pining way, some angst but overall a light tone, somewhat cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidify/pseuds/voidify
Summary: It was still, in essence, just a loo-break. Crowley fully intended to get back to sleep in that forgotten countryside crypt before the year of 1832 was out. But in the meantime, chance had brought him to Paris. He was just a few hours too late to take credit for the insurrection, but right on time to meet a certain human by the banks of the Seine.After hearing that human’s story, and relating to himfar too much, what could Crowley possibly do but give good advice?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 1
Kudos: 91





	and if you fall

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Stars, if it's not obvious. Love me some parallels. The 1832 loo-break from Crowley's nap is book canon. Hope you all enjoy the fic.

It was still, in essence, just a loo-break. Sure, Crowley had decided to stretch his legs for a few months, perhaps do a few temptations, while he was up. But he _had_ gone to the loo, and he hadn’t bothered to forge new identity documents, and he intended to get back to sleep in that forgotten countryside crypt before the year of 1832 was out. 

In the meantime, though, chance had brought him to Paris. He’d heard through the grapevine that there was yet another insurrection going on, and he thought he might pop over to take credit. Unfortunately, he missed it by just a few hours. And so, Crowley wandered the streets, half-hoping for some sort of replacement temptation opportunity to write home about. 

Then, he spotted a human, standing by a parapet of the Seine, staring out blankly. It didn’t take a genius to guess his immediate plans. Crowley sauntered over to him. “Hello.”

The human pointedly ignored Crowley. Crowley shuffled closer until he could no longer be ignored. Instead of acknowledging Crowley, the human shuffled away, muttering something in French (probably some sort of vulgarly phrased instruction for Crowley to leave). Upon this reminder of the language barrier, Crowley performed a quick demonic miracle to fix it. And sure, it was lazy— if Aziraphale was there, he would give Crowley that judgemental look, like he always did when Crowley did something the easy way round, and Crowley would say something like, ‘come off it, angel; sloth is kind of my main sin this century anyway, you know,’ and— alright. No point in getting caught up thinking about Aziraphale. There was a human to talk to. 

“What brings you here?” No response. “No, we haven’t met before. But we’ve met now. Antoine Crowley.” [1]

The stranger replied, if only out of grudging propriety. “Inspector Javert. _Enchanté_.” Javert said this with barely veiled hostility, his eyes still fixed on the middle distance above the Seine. He obviously wanted Crowley to leave. Crowley would not leave. He had decided that he wanted to hear Javert’s story— it was bound to be interesting, and Crowley had nothing better to do. Sure, he might talk Javert down in the process— humans in crisis often talked _themselves_ down if given an ear to vent to— but Crowley had prepared a whole justification for himself as to why there was nothing inherently undemonly about that. Prolonging a life, in and of itself, was neither Side’s business to condone or condemn. As for that alleged mortal sin… well, nobody was entirely sure how _that_ had ended up being taken by humans as Authorised. Saving Javert would give the man a chance to do more good, or more bad— and giving humans the opportunity to go either way was what temptation was all about, after all. 

“I don’t believe you answered my question. What brings you _here?_ ” Crowley made sure the words were dripping with meaning. 

“ _I am not sure I quite understand what you mean_.” Javert enunciated, still aggressively staring forward. 

“Javert, I actually think we both know _exactly_ what I’m asking.” Silence. Well, regardless of that, it seemed Javert was definitely not going to cooperate, so Crowley snapped his fingers, sending Javert into that trance-state where he had no choice but to give honest answers. [2] It was far less interesting than prying it out of him the old-fashioned way, but if Crowley wanted _anything_ to come of this, it was the only way. “Look, what’s the story behind _this_?”, he asked. There was no further need to mask his meaning, given the trance. “I mean, there must _be_ a story. Nobody just gets up and decides to go jump into a river without thinking they’ve got a good reason for it…”

Javert turned his head, finally looking at Crowley, and cut off his ramble. “My life’s purpose is to serve the law. But now, I think there may be a higher prerogative… and I cannot follow them both.”

Crowley was even more intrigued than before. What ideas of Her did Javert have? What ideas of the law? “Go on.”

“There is a man. His name is Jean Valjean. He is a thief. A recidivist. And yet, somehow, a good person.”

“Mm-hmm. Give me some backstory?”

And Javert did. He talked for a while. Maybe half an hour. Crowley tried something he’d never tried before: releasing a human from the honesty trance by degrees, instead of all at once. It worked surprisingly well. Even after Javert was technically all the way back to his senses, the dam had burst— and from it came flooding every detail of a decades-long epic, a tragedy of errors. 

Crowley gleaned three things from this spiel. First, that he’d picked possibly the most convolutedly motivated suicide of the century to meddle with. Second, that Javert’s former philosophy bore an uncomfortable resemblance to that of Heaven. [3] And third, that Javert _definitely_ fancied this Jean Valjean character. 

“I think,” Crowley told Javert, “that you shouldn’t worry about the law.”

“But— but it’s my job. My life.”

“If toeing your bosses’ line means giving up what’s right, unquestioningly acting on flawed orders, then _bugger that._ ” Crowley almost felt _obligated_ to give this advice. 

“…Perhaps… perhaps you’re right. But— what could I possibly do instead?”

“Go to that Valjean. Say you’re sorry, that you won’t arrest him, and that you want to turn over a new leaf. From what you’ve told me, he’s _ridiculously_ forgiving; he’ll at least try to be friends with you. If not more.”

Javert sputtered. “ _If not more—_ what is that supposed to—?”

“Come on, do you expect me to believe that twenty years of obsessive pursuit over petty theft is purely professional? With the number of times you’ve talked about his muscles, too…”

Javert turned red, and made a series of incomprehensible noises, in a vaguely defensive manner. Crowley suddenly realised that Javert reminded him of himself. 

“Oh, you don’t have to respond. It’s too obvious. And, just so you know— contrary to popular belief, it wouldn’t actually be _against God_ in any way if you ended up, well, acting on it. Since that’s something that seems to matter to you,” Crowley said. “For whatever reason,” he added, inaudibly under his breath. 

Javert opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Well. Thank you, M. Crowley. I shall take your advice.” With that, Javert turned from the parapet and set off down a side-street. 

Then, Crowley heard an unknown male voice coming from that same street. “Javert?”

“…What are _you_ doing here?”

“I followed you. I thought— well— in any case, as I said before, I am at your disposal.”

Crowley peered around the corner. He could see Valjean… and, well, Crowley couldn’t disagree with Javert’s taste in men. Valjean looked strong; his eyes were kind but in possession of a certain fierce spark; his white hair shone in the moonlight...

He was currently holding out his wrists, wincing, as if he expected to be manacled. 

Javert shook his head, and pushed Valjean’s hands away. “No. I will not arrest you. I was wrong all this time. I… I would like you to help me become a better person. If you can bear to spend time with me.”

Valjean was shocked… but, it seemed, in a good way. “Javert, I— yes, if this is not a trick, I would very much like that too. I suppose we should speak further back at my place…?”

Javert nodded. “Yes.”

And with that, the two men walked away together. 

Crowley smiled. As he did so, he wondered why he was only just now worrying that he might have done the _right thing_. Well. He was sure he’d figure out how to phrase the act of meddling in a way that sounded productive (emphasising the encouragement of disobedience to authority, perhaps, and glossing over the tacit encouragement of faith), or make Aziraphale take credit, or just completely pretend it didn’t happen. He’d done it before. And judging by the glances the two humans were sharing… it was worth it.

In any case, he should get back to his resting place. The death of his eighteenth-century identity had been _thoroughly_ faked; if anybody recognised him out and about, it would be quite the inconvenience. There was something he should probably talk to Aziraphale about… but he’d need a few more decades of rest to muster the courage for it. (He meant, of course, the request for a lethal substance, with easily misunderstood motivations. Not the _other thing_. Crowley would have to be _dreaming_ to think he’d ever tell Aziraphale about _that_. [4] The Arrangement was awkward enough as it was; Crowley could _not_ ruin the whole thing with something as stupid and undemonly as _feelings_. Even if the tale of Javert and Valjean gave Crowley a strange spark of hope that maybe, perhaps, it might not go completely horribly…)

***FOOTNOTES***

1 _When in Rome, do as the Romans do_ , Crowley thought. Or, well, _when in France, translate your shiny new forename into French_.[return to text]

2The reader may recognise this ability as that which he used on Sister Mary Loquacious 186 years later.[return to text]

3Despite the fact that he constantly described the option of freeing Valjean in religious terms. (For the record, every time Javert did that, Crowley felt the urge to pop the bubble. He never got around to it, however, because a good segue hook refused to present itself. He couldn’t very well interrupt the story with ‘so hey, I’ve been a literal demon this whole time, and you’re being way too charitable to God’.)[return to text]

4And given Crowley had already slept for several decades on end, he had dreamt it _plenty._ [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

>  **Javert, reminiscing years later:** you know this was all so lucky. If, all those years ago, that random stranger… wearing sunglasses at 1am… hadn’t walked up to me at the parapet… and engaged me in conversation… and somehow convinced me to tell him my entire life story……  
>  **Javert:** …now that i really think about that event, _what the fuck_
> 
> Anyway, kudos are great, but comments are even better!


End file.
